I am so happy and proud to announce the launching of my new "big-girl" author website! Please go check it out for links to buying my book - Murdering Eve - available NOW, current blog postings, and chances to WIN!
I have the worst dogs in the world - and not in a "Marley and Me" kind of way. We have three of them. Fenway (like the ballpark), Tori, and Ladybug. Fenway is my husband's, Tori is mine, and Ladybug is my daughter's. The lines of ownership are pretty rigid in our home; with a matrixed management situation when it comes to care, feeding, vet visits, and dispensing doggie medication. I do most of the daily maintenance like making sure they're fed and watered. My husband does the vet/medicine stuff, and my daughter makes magic "protection" necklaces for them when I fly into a rage. She is their rescuer on an almost daily basis. Most of the arguments in our house go like this:
Me: "I'm going to kill that dog!"
Kid: "No, mommy, no. He has on a magic necklace. He's protected."
Me: "There is no magic anywhere that's going to protect that dog. I'm going to beat him."
Kid: ***Sounds of stomping down the hall and door slamming***
Me: Under my breath, "Shit." Louder, "Honey, I'm just kidding. I'm not actually going to beat him."
Kid: "I'm still mad at you."
Me: "Great. Maybe you'll stay in your room for the rest of the night, then."
This happens at least once a week, usually more in way or another. Now last night - last night was a special case. Don't tell my husband, but I'm feeling a little hormonal. I was having one of those, I'm so angry at everyone and everything and have no idea why days, and both dogs I hate - my husband's and my daughter's - decided to test me to the ends of my sanity, all within about 30 seconds.
Fenway (hubby's dog), goes abso-freaking-lutely insane, barking like he's gone rabid while looking out the front window, where there is abso-freaking-lutely nothing going on. Now keep in mind, I've had it - I've had the thoroughly inhumane bark shock-collar on him all day, and he's been quiet since I harnessed him up with electrical zaps (go figure). In the short amount of time since its been taken off the dog (probably by my rescuer daughter), he goes ape shit. I scream at him, and he takes off down the hallway. I follow him to put the collar back on. This takes less than 30 seconds. In the short time I was gone, the other Dog I Hate, Ladybug - my kid's dog - has snatched the slice of pizza off my daughter's plate and run away with it.
Relevant point to make here - my daughter won't eat anything but cheese on her pizza. If there's a sliver of meat on it, she'd rather starve to death. Now granted, it's not like I slaved or anything - this is frozen pizza - but I had carefully pulled off all the pepperonis from exactly two slices of the damn thing and cooked it so she would have something to eat, and now half of her dinner is GONE. Damn dog. Hate that dog. I snap and flip out completely.
My kid is screaming hysterically as I grab the forty pound dog up by the scruff of its neck and drag it back to a bedroom to beat it. Thomas is watching in silence, knowing better than to try and intervene on the dog's behalf. Now keep in mind, I'm almost six months pregnant, and forty pounds of wiggling, panicked dog should probably slow me down. Oh, hell no. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm frigging Arnold Schwarzenegger and Ladybug is a 5 pound dumbbell. I smack her on the butt about four times. It's deeply satisfying. Hate that dog.
I come back out to the living room, and the child is looking at me with broken, soulful eyes. She says nothing. Thomas says nothing. I feel like complete and total shit, but I'm still too pissed off to care. I consider killing Ladybug and telling them she just went to sleep and I have no idea what happened. But to be fair, if I did that to Ladybug, I'd have to do it to Fenway too, and then I'm pregnant and divorced. Thomas has long said that he loves the dog more than me - a fact I've learned to live with. I'm going to outlive the stupid ass dog anyway. Na-na-na-na-boo-boo.
You'll notice I've not mentioned my dog, who I think is next to perfect. Her name is Tori, and she's an adorable, affectionate black Labrador. Who also happens to dig monstrous holes in our backyard. Que sera, I say. I've been meaning to plant a garden. She's just giving me a leg up on where to put the potatoes. :)
Anyway, I tell you all this because it's been pointed out to me that I make a lot of fun of my husband on this blog, and potentially portray myself to be the long-suffering-wife-who-makes-no-mistakes. In actuality, that's pretty damn close to the truth, but not always. Last night was not a shining moment for me. I was as close to canine homicide as I've ever been, and it wasn't a pretty sight.
Today, I'm feeling slightly better and can look at the situation a little more pragmatically. Yes, we have three dogs. Yes, it's a madhouse. No, I'm not going to kill them. Yet.
I'm thrilled to introduce KB Cutter to the Flood Gates! Welcome!
Thank you Kelly for allowing me to be here today. I'll try not to embarrass you. Much. -cheesy grin-
It's my distinct pleasure. Let's play a little Q&A —
1. First off, can you tell us a little bit about yourself? Ah, the details of my life are inconsequential. Okay, not really, they are kinda mundane. I'm a geek of all trades. Love books, film, and writing (shocking, I know) I have a place in the Catskill Mountains, a secluded spot in the woods to recharge from the stresses of modern suburban life. Campfires, s'mores and enjoying the music of nature are on the order of business 'up yonder!'
I've been enamored with the written word for longer than I can remember and being a voracious reader, naturally I gravitated toward writing my own tales. Fast forward a few years later (ok, MORE than a few years) I found a wonderfully interactive writing group on the internets, wrote in every conceivable genre there and finally screwed up the courage to submit my work for professional publication.
Mmmmm. A place in the Catskills. Sounds heavenly. And I, for one, am very thankful you screwed up the courage to submit.
2.Do you have a day job as well?
No day job for me.–shivers-I work nights. I cannot fathom waking up to an alarm clock every morning, unless I have to, then it's under duress. ;-)
I'm a member of the Thin Blue Line for the past 23+ years. Some folks thing its odd that my part time occupation writing erotic romance is a bit incongruous given my profession.I prefer to be slightly different. All right, maybe a bit more than slightly.
Oh, honey. I'm a big, big fan of 'different'.
3.How did you choose the genre you write in?
Hmm, the genre chose me, actually. When I posted at the writing forums, the majority of my collaborative partners were women. They usually determined the narrative structure of the story. I was writing urban fantasy, paranormal, contemporary thriller romances before I knew the whole sub classifications of the romance genre!
Don't get me started on the whole "fantasy, urban-fantasy, paranormal, gas-lamp, steampunk" sub-classifications system. I just flat call it fiction.J
4.Do you work with an outline, or just write?
I'm more a pantster than outliner. I use a rough guideline for starting off, then my Muse kicks in, taking me on quite the journey. She really does love to drive!
Me too! Nothing better than when the muse shows up with her whip, is there?
5.Can you tell us about your challenges in getting your first book published?
I don’t have a hard luck story to tell. Quite the opposite, in fact. I wrote a short story entitled Summer Heat, a complete 180 from my normal comfort zone, about a woman coming to terms with her sexuality, leaving her husband for her best friend. I subbed it to Noble Romance and in a few days, I received a contract.To this day, I'm still in awe of how it all transpired so quickly.
I think publishing stories like yours are important to share. Too many writers hear about how difficult it is to get published, and give up before they've started.
6.What are the most important elements of good writing? According to you, what tools are must-haves for writers?
You must have read. Period. End of. Everything else, you can learn. If you do not take the time to read, you will NOT evolve as a writer. Oh, and maybe hammering out a few hundred words a day doesn’t hurt either.
A few hundred words a day? Damn, you're committed. *** bowing to you, sensei ***
7.What is your favorite breakfast food?
I loves da breakfast.Bacon and egg on a roll. Ketchup. Large coffee. I'm set. The world could end. Don’t care.
Mmmm. You can't talk that way to a pregnant woman. Can you hold on while I go get something to eat? Just kidding – let's keep going – and please ignore the rumbling from the round little belly over here.
8.Decaf or regular?
Regular. It's like non-alcoholic beer, what's the point?
Impossible to argue with logic like that…
9.How many times have you been naked in public? Elaborate.
All the time. Why?
LOL – I knew there was a reason I liked you. J
10.What project are you working on now?
Jeez, what am I not working on now?I've narrowed the field to two projects. One is a sci-fi novella featuring a M/F/M erotic romance at is core. Think of Blade Runner meets Inception via Children of Men. The other is short horror themed bit of sexiness of lesbians vs. zombies. I told ya I was different!!!
Blade Runner meets Inception via Children of Men? I think you need to up your daily word quota, because THAT I've got to read!!!
You have been an incredibly good sport about all the questions, KB. Thank you so much for being here!
Thank you, Kelly, for allowing me to babble at your blog. I hope I didn't scare anyone off.
No way! I’m sick and twisted; therefore, I would bet my bottom dollar everyone that reads this blog doesn't scare too easily.J
I'd like to share a blurb and excerpt from my latest release, an erotic paranormal romance – The Darker Side of Heaven available on Amazon Kindle and at Noble Romance and other e-book venues!
Folks can look me up at www.kbcutter.com and Facebook and Twitter. I'm quite social.
Good lord, yes, please share. I'd be disappointed if you didn't. OK readers…get a load of THIS!!!
Shadows lengthen over the world. Turmoil rages.
Something evil this way comes . . . .
Emotionally conflicted avenger Chalice Noire, product of an unholy union between demon and angel, is a slayer to the forces of darkness. Employed by shadowy benefactors in Rome, her sect is commanded by fallen angel Nikolai Voss, whose allegiance is not to the church but to the flame of vengeance that burns within.
But Chalice possesses a holy relic, a Weapon of the Mass, Nikolai desperately craves, and he will stop at nothing to retrieve it, destroying anything or anyone, including his own soul.
Renegade vampire Adam Blake is a recluse, attempting to bury his troubled past and the tortured memory of his former lover, Chalice Noire, in America's last frontier: the Alaskan wilderness.
Armageddon looms, the agents of light and darkness gather forces. The battle to be fought not on the sands of prophecy, but in the rugged beauty of Alaska, where Chalice and Adam once again cross paths. Can they reconcile their past to save humanity's future?
Hell is empty and all the devils are here
~ William Shakespeare
Fire Island, N.Y.
Chalice Noire wanted to slit their throats. Instead, she caressed the prominent bulge in the cultured man's trousers and slowly ground her ass against the crotch of the biker behind her.
Bloodletting would come later.
"I think someone wants to party." Victor's hooded gaze remained on her hand as she massaged his crotch.
Chalice tightened her grip on the outline of his fierce erection.
Victor winced, his breath hitching in his throat.
"I'm not the only one." Chalice murmured in his ear.
She suppressed the urge to do a Mike Tyson on his lobe.
The biker grabbed her by the waist. She could feel his insistent heat pressing hard against the flimsy fabric of her summer dress.
"You know what they say, two's company, and three's a ménage." The biker's voice held the rasp of a thousand gargled razor blades.
Chalice felt his rough hands gliding along her bare legs. The bastard's hand pushed the fabric of her dress higher, exposing her ass.
"Christ, Victor, she's a fucking party girl, all right. Kinky fuck me boots and little bitch's goin' commando!"
Chalice gritted her teeth.
Anger welled up in her breast, a red beast clawing its way to the surface. She did not want to lose control. Her own base instincts began to clamor for attention. She willed herself to resist the insistent energy, the pulsating desire that made blood throb in her temples, and in her clit.
She squeezed Victor's cock harder.
"Ow! My sweet, I do so enjoy your robust enthusiasm, but I'm not a masochist."
Bullshit, Victor Kozlov, I am privy to the darkness that lurks within your corrupted soul.
The biker, Dominic Stone, continued to paw at her ass. He bore a bullshit name, but it wouldn't matter much longer. His groping hands dipped between her legs, massaged her sex. The son-of-a-bitch could introduce himself to the devil when she was through with him.
Simultaneously repulsed and sexually charged, she struggled to control the part of her that made her wet from their touch.
"I'm gonna fuck you right here and now. My cock's so hard for your wet pussy, baby. It's practically busting through my zipper."
"Dominic, please; no need to voice such vulgarities. The way our bodies react to this gorgeous creature, our flesh speaks volumes, and our tongues should be put to better use."
Victor's voice was a rich, soothing bass. No wonder women fell under his charm. Tall, dark, and aristocratically handsome, with a hint of eastern European accent, he appeared the consummate bon vivant.
Chalice knew better. Beneath Victor's cultured facade, lurked a career criminal with a specialty in trafficking flesh, preying on the innocent, the unwary. She tracked him across the entire breadth of Asia and through half of Eastern Europe. She had always been one step behind.
His vanity would be his demise, alongside his liaisons with things of a dark nature. The women were not always bound for the sex trade. Some suffered a fate far worse than prostitution. Victor had to satiate the black appetites of beings not of this world who aided him in his desire for money and power. The Audro Council, the shadowy Vatican-based organization she worked for to help rid the world of evil and those who consorted with the legions of devil spawn had long sought to end the Russian criminal enterprise. She thought it ironic the church recruited her, she an offspring of an unholy union of half human-half demon succubus and corrupted angel. Her talent for bloodshed kept the questioning lips of certain cardinals and bishops still concerned over her suspect linage trembling. In the early days, she thought of herself as an avenger, now . . . she wasn't so sure.
Chalice often wondered how innocent the girls actually were. To be so blindly ignorant, so stupidly naive to fall for Victor's line of bullshit, perhaps they deserved their fate of sexually indentured servitude.
She felt nothing for these women, not anger or sorrow. Tonight, however, a small vestige of humanity smoldered inside of her.
A tiny flame in the dark.
Useless emotion, girl. Get your head out of your ass or get killed.
Dominic's hoarse voice dissipated the fog of her self-rumination. "Whatever, Victor, all I know, is I like what I see and feel, and what I want, I fucking take. This piece of ass is gonna take all my fat cock deep in her soaking cunt."
Chalice sensed movement behind her. Dominic grunted, undoubtedly trying to extract his turgid member from his jeans. She wondered how a Russian criminal oligarch like Victor Kozlov hooked up with a Pagan biker enforcer like Stone. It was obviously a business arrangement. Victor supplied the women; Dominic got them strung out on drugs, and eventually they hustled their scrawny asses in biker-run strip joints or Russian mafia-backed whorehouses.
Chalice shivered. The slick, bulbous head of Dominic's cock pressed against her ass.
Damn, girl, get a grip. Don't lose it now.
She rarely let her body respond so viscerally, but she hadn't had sex in weeks. The need for ecstasy burned in the deepest fiber of her being. Her accursed lineage stirred the lustful beast within. Perhaps it was a mistake taking on two powerfully built men alone, no back up, no one ghosting her movements, especially on a goddamned island. Chalice knew it was risky, deadly, but she rarely second guessed her instincts. Doing so in her line of work got you one thing: dead. Chalice had to go it alone. She preferred it that way. Whatever transpired, it was on her, no trigger-happy cowboy heroes crashing through doors at the wrong moment.
"Hey, Dom, baby, slow down or you're gonna blow your wad too soon. Let's get little Victor to come out and play." Chalice cooed.
"He is not so little, my love."
Dominic slapped Chalice's ass. She barely resisted the urge to reach behind her and rip his balls off.
"Sorry, little darlin'. It's like a fire hose; once the pressure's on, it's gonna be a gusher. Fuck, c'mon Victor, whip it out unless you gone fag or somethin'. I ain't got all goddamn night."
Chalice grinned inwardly.
Neither do I.
Victor's eyes narrowed into piercing black coals. His gaze pure malice, body tensing. He obviously didn't like being addressed in such a vulgar manner.
Chalice slowly pulled Victor's zipper down, diffusing the palpable tension. She worked his thick cock out, grasping his shaft, stroking his expanding flesh.
"Oh Victor's not gone fag—quite the contrary."
Chalice smiled, gently blowing on the tip of Victor's cock. He shivered in her touch, precum leaking from the tip.
Dominic grunted. Chalice could feel his pelvis against her ass, the large head of his cock about to part the folds of her sex. Victor began to stroke Chalice's hair, his eyes closing, obviously anticipating her mouth upon his swollen cock.
Her gaze narrowed.
The party's started.
Chalice reared up, bringing her right arm forward and then shot it back, her elbow connecting with Dominic's throat.
She heard a satisfying crunch.
Dominic stumbled back, gurgling. She kept her grip on Victor's cock, squeezing with all of her might, his eyes bulging. She violently jerked her arm left and heard a gratifying, wet tearing sound. Victor's screams joined Dominic's rasping and choking.
Chalice withdrew the dagger from her boot sheath. The French doors were open, white curtains fluttering in the breeze; the pale moonlight glinted on the flat of the blade.
Chalice glanced at Dominic; his hands were at his throat, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He crumbled to his knees, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Victor continued to scream, curled on the floor in a fetal position, his hands clasping his crotch.
The beach house, while secluded, was not remote enough to allow Victor to wail like a banshee.
Chalice had to silence him. His howls of pain would carry on the open air.
She strode to the downed man, boot heels deafening loud on the floor, and kicked him over.
Victor yelped like a whipped dog.
Chalice slit his throat.
"Ah, thank you. That fucking yowling was driving me nuts."
Chalice whipped around to the grinning face of Dominic Stone bearing down upon her.
She was unable to sidestep his advance completely. For a large man, he moved incredibly fast and hit her in the shoulder, knocking the blade from her hand, spinning her around. She regained her footing, splaying her legs. Dominic slammed into the flat screen TV, shattering its black screen. He spun around, his movements fluid, quick, and unnaturally athletic. No run-of-the mill biker muscle.
"I hope Victor got the extended warranty." Dominic glanced at the Russian. His body still. Blood leaked out of the gash in his neck. "I guess it don't matter now."
Chalice eyed the dagger.
Dominic squinted. "I know what you're thinking; can I get to it before he does?"
"That's a piss poor Clint Eastwood impression."
"Actually, it was supposed to be Charles Bronson. Eastwood's a wuss."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Hmm, I thought you figured that out already. Guess your brains are in your tits." Dominic licked his lips. He grinned, displaying rows of sharp, needle-like teeth.
"I'm an incubus. Although I must issue this disclaimer: I'm not pure-blood. I have ta do that, bit of a drag, really, but as a lesser demon, one must adhere to the Unholy Scripts."
Chalice remained mute, taking in the information.
The biker shrugged. "I'm like you, half-breed, although I think you are more along the lines of a mutt."
Chalice bared her teeth, inching forward.
Dominic held up his hands.
"Easy, Xena; guess I struck a nerve. C'mon, you have to know who you are, at least parts of you. I certainly know one part of you. I can smell it."
Chalice balled her hands into fists.
"Am I going to have to call you Cleopatra, huh? Queen of fucking denial? Listen, why don't we cut to the chase. You could use a good fuck, Satan knows I'd enjoy giving one. So, let's shed our human masquerade, get busy, and I drench you in sticky demon jizz."
"You're a vile creature. I'd rather slit my wrists and drink my own blood than fuck you."
The biker chewed on his lower lip, drawing a foul smelling, brackish fluid that snaked down his chin.
"Your words sting, sweet cheeks. Go on; pretend you're not like me. Keep deluding yourself. Truth hurts like a motherfucker. You want it rough. I'm down with that. I dig the pain thing. Bitch, I am going to enjoy raping every hole in your body."
The thing that called itself Dominic transformed. The leather jacket and jeans began to smoke and burn as the clothing fell to ashes on the floor. Muscles flexed under coarse, bile green, scaly flesh. Its penis swung pendulously, thickening rapidly; the bulbous head soon rose a foot above the creature's muscled abdomen.
Chalice's gaze fell upon the pulsating organ.
"For an incubus, you have a really small dick."
The demon's laugh was like sand poured off a gravedigger's shovel.
"The succu-bitch has a sense of humor after all."
Rage consumed her. Chalice charged forward, her lips pulled back, snarling like a she-wolf. This loathsome thing would soon regret its mocking words. The demon roared, shattering the panes of glass in the doors. Chalice feinted left then quickly sprinted to the right, as if a quarterback dodging the sack. The incubus slashed with its talons, ripping the back of her dress. Its nails raked her flesh. Chalice cried out in pain as she leapt for the dagger, sliding across the floor on her stomach. She managed to clasp the hilt when the demon lashed out again, ripping more fabric and flesh.
Chalice could smell her skin burning, could feel her back wet with her own blood. The incubus lunged as Chalice flipped onto her back, the agony from the cauterized wounds making her eyes water. The demon attempted to straddle her, its impossibly long, thick erection pulsated menacingly over her. She swung the blade, intent on severing the horrid appendage, when a voice exploded inside of her head.
The arc of the blade slowed, giving the demon enough time to jerk back. The dagger sliced the incubus's legs, causing it to cry out in a combination of pain and a sound she could only assume came from relief that she had not lopped off its prized organ.
The wounds on the demon's legs burned. The stench of rotting flesh filled the room.
"You cunt, you fucking impure blooded she-bitch!" The demon wailed, snatching the dagger from her weakened hand. Chalice's mind reeled. Chaotic images flashed in her mind. She knew that voice. Saw his face. Why did he call to her now?
The incubus slashed at her abdomen. The blade sliced a thin, surgically red straight line stretched across her stomach. Blood began to seep from the laceration.
The demon's flesh continued to burn. Tendrils of smoke wafted from the cuts on its legs.
He loomed over her, the dagger blade pointed downward. The demon's face contorted in agony and rage. Chalice tried to fight the lethargy in her body. She knew it wanted to finish her off, drive the dagger into her chest, stake her to the floor like a butterfly to cork board.
She was not going out like this, on her back.
She was the hunter, not the prey.
Chalice screamed, throwing her hands up, if she had to grasp the blade, severing her fingers, so be it. She would fight this sex-crazed piece of filth from hell with every ounce of strength she could muster.
She heard the crunch of broken glass and the sound of muffled . . . gunshots. Or was it the ocean slapping the shoreline? The demon growled as the dagger came down. Chalice saw the red and black brimstone eyes of the beast ablaze with pure undiluted hatred. Chalice reached for the blade, her gaze locking with the demons.
The incubus jerked. Its body twitched. Small bits of flesh exploded into greenish-black mists off its body.
The dagger continued its downward spiral, and as Chalice swatted it away, she thought she heard tiny coffin nails clinking on the floor.
Oh wow KB, nobody likes chicks kicking ass better than I do. :)
Everyone else... go get another slice of Darker Side of Heaven! Available for download now!